“Richard desires an early start,” Lucy explained, even though she had not seen her brother since the events of the previous night. Hermione probably knew more about their plans than she did.
“Think of it, Lucy,” Hermione said, walking her t
o the door. “We shall both be countesses. I of Fennsworth, and you of Davenport. We shall cut quite a dash, we two.”
Lucy knew that she was trying to cheer her up, so she used every ounce of her energy to force her smile to reach her eyes as she said, “It will be great fun, won’t it?”
Hermione took her hand and squeezed it. “Oh, it will, Lucy. You shall see. We are at the dawn of a new day, and it will be bright, indeed.”
Lucy gave her friend a hug. It was the only way she could think to hide her face from view.
Because there was no way she could feign a smile this time.
Gregory found her just in time. She was in the front drive, surprisingly alone, save for the handful of servants scurrying about. He could see her profile, chin tipped slightly up as she watched her trunks being loaded onto the carriage. She looked…composed. Carefully held.
“Lady Lucinda,” he called out.
She went quite still before she turned. And when she did, her eyes looked pained.
“I am glad I caught you,” he said, although he was no longer sure that he was. She was not happy to see him. He had not been expecting that.
“Mr. Bridgerton,” she said. Her lips were pinched at the corners, as if she thought she was smiling.
There were a hundred different things he could have said, so of course he chose the least meaningful and most obvious. “You’re leaving.”
“Yes,” she said, after the barest of pauses. “Richard desires an early start.”
Gregory looked around. “Is he here?”
“Not yet. I imagine he is saying goodbye to Hermione.”
“Ah. Yes.” He cleared his throat. “Of course.”
He looked at her, and she looked at him, and they were quiet.
Awkward.
“I wanted to say that I am sorry,” he said.
She…she didn’t smile. He wasn’t sure what her expression was, but it wasn’t a smile. “Of course,” she said.
Of course? Of course?
“I accept.” She looked slightly over his shoulder. “Please, do not think of it again.”
It was what she had to say, to be sure, but it still niggled at Gregory. He had kissed her, and it had been stupendous, and if he wished to remember it, he damned well would.
“Will I see you in London?” he asked.
She looked up at him then, her eyes finally meeting his. She was searching for something. She was searching for something in him, and he did not think she found it.
She looked too somber, too tired.
Too not like her.
“I expect you shall,” she replied. “But it won’t be the same. I am engaged, you see.”
“Practically engaged,” he reminded her, smiling.